


Anything

by Thekfiles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Kink, M/M, Watersports, but only because Dean won't admit out loud to what he wants, slight dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 17:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11582988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thekfiles/pseuds/Thekfiles
Summary: Dean comes back from hell with depraved, filthy desires. As much as he fights against what he wants, Cas is there to give it to him.





	Anything

To say that Hell had fucked with Dean’s head was putting it mildly.

Not only was he a goddamn poster child for sleep deprivation and alcoholism but he’d also clawed his way back up to the land of the living with some serious kinks. Debauched, disgusting kind of kinks.

Mostly because Alistair had been… well, clever would be a word. Sick would be another. A fucking mastermind in tearing through the human psyche and unplugging some wires and plugging in others.

Now, every time Dean got an erection he also wanted violence. Regular old vanilla sex just didn’t cut it anymore. He wanted it to be as twisted as possible. And the worst part, the most contrived ridickulous joke of the whole mess was that given his shameful failure in holding out against torture, it would stand to reason that he’d get his jollies off now by hurting others.

But nah, his brain had decided to pull a funny on him. Some psychological retribution for all the horrors he caused, all the pain. The souls he molded, from man to creature. He had done this. Had enjoyed it.

Now? Now the thought of harming an innocent drove him to be sick. Instead, he wanted to be used, to be punished. He wanted someone to tie him up and smack him around a bit, do things to him he’d never even thought about before hell got it’s claws into him. He wanted to be humiliated.

And worst of all of it, he was too washed in guilt and shame to follow through on what he wanted, what was beginning to feel more like a need than some fucked up fetish he’d picked up hell like it were some kind of flu virus.

The nightmarish fantasies had been driving him insane for months. Every muscle on his dog-tired body craved the kind of release he didn’t know how the hell to ask for. As he lay there one morning, feeling shaky with exhaustion and about two more nights away from breaking down, Cas fluttered into the room with a big windy flap-flap.

He took one look at Dean and frowned. “There’s something wrong with you.”

Dean groaned, pissed off. Mostly at himself but Cas would work too. “I’m fine,” he grated out. With a big inhale, he went to throw his legs off to the side of the bed, all intentions to get up, take a piss, grab a shower, and get his damn day started.

But he didn’t make it that far.

Cas strode across the room in two strides and shoved Dean back down onto the bed. “Tell me.”

Breathing hard all of a sudden, Dean shrank bank. He averted his eyes, not wanting Cas to look into him, to see all the things that were wrong. With a subtle gesture, Dean shook his head, too afraid to speak, knowing his voice would crack.

Cas reached out and cupped Dean’s cheek, his fingers hooking behind Dean’s ear, making him turn his head to meet Cas’ hard, stony gaze. “If you won’t tell me… then show me. Let me in. I can help.”

Oh fuck, Dean had never wanted anything more. To have Cas just fix it somehow, without him having to say a word. But it would mean letting Cas into his horror funhouse mind. Maybe there were no clowns, but there other things. Wrong, _wrong_ things.

He shivered under Cas’ unyielding stare. “I can handle it.”

“No,” Cas argued, “I don’t believe you can. Let me in, Dean.”

Sucking back a near sob, Dean closed his eyes and thought, _okay. Take a dive through my warped fucking mind._

It was like being dragged through a rolodex of his depraved newfound kinks unwillingly. Everything Cas pulled out of him, he saw as it skipped on by. From choking to pain to deprivation to desperation to being taken against his will. Things involving bodily fluids other than spit or come. Although… those too.

When the motel room crashed back into his senses, Cas was towering over him. Not a single emotion on the angels face. Somehow, that unnerved Dean more than if he’d been outraged or disgusted.

“What are you gonna do?” Dean asked, feeling small and feeble.

Cas narrowed his eyes, turning over a quick thought. Before Dean knew what was happening, Cas had reached down and picked up him and moved them over to the chair by the door. Cas sat down and arranged Dean in his lip, taking his by the wrists and wrenching his arms behind his back, his chest pushed out against Cas’.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you what you want.”

Dean started to struggle. “No,” he protested, fighting more against himself than Cas, “I don’t want any of that… I swear I don’t.”

Cas shot him a look, peering up at him. “Yes you do, it’s my job to take care of you. So let me. Anything you want… I’ll do.”

“What?!” Dean tried to wriggle his wrists free but Cas’ grip was like iron. “You can’t be serious, come on… let me up.”

“If you really wanted to get up, I’d let you… but deep down you want me to force you not to move.”

Dean huffed and swore, trying to search inside himself for a switch, some kind of lever in the depths of his psyche. But as he struggled some more he realized he did really need to get up. His bladder was full and his legs were spread and he knew if Cas held him here long enough he’d fucking piss himself.

Fuck…

A slow wave of pleasure curled up against the base of his spine, tingles lighting off in his abdomen.

“No seriously… Cas,” he pleaded again, panicking, hating who he’d become. “Please let me up, I gotta take a piss.”

Cas ignored him, kept him planted right where he was. His suddenly hard cock pushing against his boxers, his naked thighs rubbing against the chair and Cas’ slacks. He felt the urge to piss grow and he started to breathe harder.

“Please Cas… I don’t actually want this… really.”

Ugh, but he did. Every time he said it, he knew it was a lie. He was ashamed, mortified. It was sick and wrong and gross. He hated what hell had done to him. Instead of owning up to what he wanted deep in the fluttery pit of his stomach, he jerked and twisted trying to free himself.

But Cas was like stone, making him run out of steam before he got anywhere. As soon as he relaxed, he felt the full sensation pushing to get out. He really needed to piss, like really really needed.

“Cas… fuck… seriously… You keep me here and I’m…”

Cas finally met his eyes, watching him. “You’re what?” he asked, his low voice sounding thicker than usual. Maybe angry… Dean wasn’t sure.

Biting his lip, Dean clenched his thighs and every muscle he possessed, starting to wriggle. “Fuck… you know. Don’t make me say it… don’t make me do it.”

“Then don’t,” he replied, a smug lilt to his tone.

“Uhh… fuck,” Dean groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt the ache of being too full, needing to empty his bladder. “Really, Cas, I don’t....”

“Stop lying… it’ll be easier.”

Dean inhaled sharply, making a weak sound in the back of his throat. He felt the first dribble seep out of his cock and he turned his face away. He tried to clench, tried to hold it in. But Cas tightened the hold on his wrists, pulling Dean harder against his lap.

Dean’s oversensitive groin brushed against Cas’ slacks and he nearly wept, another spurt of piss leaked into his boxers.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck,” he panted, his legs shaking hard. “I can’t hold it in, Cas… Please.”

In a slow, almost sensual move, Cas grinded up against him, jostling his full bladder. Dean cried out as another rush of warm urine leaked out and he knew this time Cas felt it… he knew.

When it ached too much for him to control it anymore, Dean let out a wracked sounding sob and shook as more and more piss flooded his boxers, dripping down his skin and soaking Cas’ crotch.

“Oh, fuck, fuck… I’m sorry,” he whimpered, rocking his hips in an impossible thrust as the hot liquid streamed out of him, saturating the air with a certain scent. His cheeks burned, another few sobs choked their way out of him and he shook as the warm flood of piss drained out of him, full and unending for so long he wanted to break apart. When it finally petered out, he was inhaling in stuttered little breaths, his lips shaking. 

Everything under him was wet, and he was crying. Not because he’d hated it, but because it had felt soooo fucking good. For the first time in months, his entire body relaxed and he crashed onto Cas' chest in a heap. Breathing heavy but at peace.

 


End file.
